In Vino Veritas?
by sasha1600
Summary: The team gets together for a drink after a rough case. Warning: discussion of spanking of adults. Don’t like? Don’t read!


**In Vino Veritas?**

**Summary:** The team gets together for a drink after a rough case. **Warning:** discussion of spanking of adults. Don't like? Don't read!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them, I just play with them.

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A/N: This takes place in my 'Lessons' universe and builds on a larger plot arc. This probably won't make much sense unless you read Data Points first.

Thanks to AislingK, Visitkarte and Xanthe2 for suggestions that contributed to this story.

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**Warning: this story contains discussion about the disciplinary spanking of adults. If you have a problem with that, click on that 'back' button now. You've been warned.**

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_Thursday:_

Tim turned off his computer, groaning with relief that the day was finally over. At least he didn't feel as bad as his teammates had gleefully predicted he would, when they'd finally left the bar the night before. A shower and a cup of coffee, and he'd been able to face the day without too much difficulty. Gibbs had looked at him, one eyebrow raised, when he'd arrived looking more bleary-eyed than usual, but had said nothing. He'd known better than to complain about the slight headache he had, or the general sluggishness he felt, and he'd been able to do his job well enough not to draw his boss's wrath. It definitely helped that they hadn't caught a new case, and had spent the day tidying up the paperwork from the one whose conclusion he'd been celebrating with Tony and Abby the night before, he thought gratefully. Now he was looking forward to going home and letting himself collapse into bed. Jethro would just have to make do with a shorter-than-usual walk tonight.

As he shrugged on his jacket, he felt the familiar weight of his PDA in its securely-zippered pocket. A rush of memory had him groaning once again, more loudly this time.

He didn't really...

did he?

He fished out the device and quickly tapped a few buttons. A file blinked onto the small screen. Scrolling through it, his fears were quickly confirmed.

He did.

X X X

_Wednesday:_

'Hey, Probie, I think you've had enough, there...'

'Why?'

'Because you're _drunk_ already.'

Tim scowled across the table at Tony, then pushed back his chair determinedly.

'I've had _two_ beeeeeeeeers, Tony. I'm _not_ drunnnnnk,' he replied, his words slightly slurred.

'Yeah, well, it apparently only _takes_ two beers to make you drunk. Because you, my friend, definitely _are_.'

'I'm getting annnnnnnother round. D'you wannnnnt one, or n...not?' he asked, gesticulating wildly in a way that belied his earlier declaration of his own sobriety.

'He's right, Timmy. You'd better not. Gibbs will have a fit if you come in tomorrow with a hang-over...'

'Abby, I'm _not_ drunnnnnnk!' he asserted more vehemently.

'Fine! Have another drink. It's your ass on the line.'

Tim headed off to the bar, a bit unsteadily. His two friends watched him with concern.

'What'd you let him do that for, Abs? There's no way Gibbs is not going to notice if he comes in hung over, and he's not going to be happy about it. Case from hell or not, getting drunk on a work night...'

'What d'ya want me to do, Tony? I told him it was a bad idea! You think I should tie him to his chair or something?'

Tony smirked.

'Well, if that's what does it for you...'

Abby reached over and smacked him on the back of the head.

'Not funny, Tony! It's been a really hard case for him, finding those babies like that...'

'It's been hard for all of us, Abs. But him getting plastered isn't gonna help anything.'

'No, but...'

'And neither is getting spanked for it tomorrow.'

'I know. But...'

Abby broke off as Tim returned, precariously balancing three pints of frothy beer. He slid them onto the table, wisely keeping one in his hand, not so drunk that he didn't anticipate Tony's move to relieve him of his glass.

'Suit yourself, Probie. But you'd better remember that you've got nobody to blame but yourself, when Gibbs has you face-down over the conference room table tomorrow.'

'Gibbssss isn't gonna sssspank me,' Tim slurred, dropping onto his chair and taking a long drink of the beer in his hand.

'You keep drinking, and he is,' Abby retorted.

Tim seemed to freeze, his head cocked to one side, a curious expression on his face.

'Whaddaya thinnnnnk he w...w...would uuuuuuse?' he asked, finally, taking another sip.

Tony let out a short bark of laughter.

'What, you're trying to decide if it's worth it? News flash, Probie... it doesn't much matter _what_ he's going to use. You're not going to like it! And you're not going to think it was worth it, this time tomorrow.'

He leaned across the table to try to pull Tim's glass away from him, but Tim held it out of his reach.

'Ssssserioussssly, Tony. I'm not on duuuuuuty. What I doooooooo, onnnnnnnn my ownnnn timmmmmme, isssssss my bussssssinessssss...'

'Yeah, until it affects your ability to do your job tomorrow!'

'Okayyyy, I sssssssstill don't think I'mmmmmm drunnnnnnnnk, but let'ssssss sayyyyy I ammmm. What kinnnnnnnd of sssssspannnnking doooooo yooooou thinnnnnnnk it'd gettttttttt meeeee? A 3-2? Maaaaaaaaybeeeeee a 4-2?'

Tony and Abby exchanged confused looks as they tried to process Tim's increasingly incoherent speech.

'What? Tim? 3-2? 4-2? What do you mean?'

'Yoooooou know. A '4' onnnnn the p...p....painnnnnnn scale. And a '2' forrrrrrr how l...l...long it h...h...hurts forrrrrrr.'

Tim poured more of the alcohol into his mouth, oblivious to the stunned reaction his comment had received from his friends.

'What?! You measure your spankings? Numerically?'

'Surrrrrre. The p...p...paddle is a 4, the b...b...belt is a 7....'

Tony howled with laughter.

'Whattttt? Yoooou've n...n...nevvvvvvver thought 'bout the diff'rent immm... immmpl... immmpellllents... that Gibbssssss uuuuusessssss?'

'Sure. The strap is worse than the paddle. A switch is worse than the strap. And it all frickin' hurts! What else do you need to know?'

'That'sssss not very ssssscientiffffffffic, Tony...'

'Screw science! It's a _spanking_, Probie!'

'A ssssspannnnking is ackchually verrrry ssssscientifffic, Tony. It'ssss allll about forcccce, and aerrrrodynnnamicssssss, and....'

'Timmy, I'm a scientist as much as you are, but I've _never_ tried to analyse being _spanked_, like it was some science experiment!'

'Welllllll, I'vvvvvvvve been collllllllectttttttting the daaaaaaaaata, annnnnnd...'

'Oh, don't tell me you've been _trying_ to get Gibbs to spank you, so you can compare...'

'Of courssssssse not! I'mmmm n...n...not crazzzzzy! But, whennnnn it h...h...happppennnnnns, I rec...rec...record mmmmy obserrrrrrrrvationssss innnnnn mmmmmmmy ssssssssspreaddddddsheeeeeet.'

Tim paused to take another drink.

'You have a _spreadsheet!_' Tony squawked incredulously.

'Yeah,' Tim drawled. 'But it'sssss gottttt a lotttta gapppssssss in it...' he added, almost wistfully. 'Seeeeeee?'

Tim fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a PDA. He poked at a few buttons and a minute later he was shoving the thing in Tony's face. The senior agent blinked, but recovered quickly. He scanned his eyes over the tiny screen. A moment later, he grinned.

'You know, I can probably help you fill in some of those gaps, Probie,' he commented casually, sliding the stylus out of its sleeve.

Tim appeared not to notice either the comment or the action, draining the last of his third beer down his throat and turning to Abby, his fellow scientist.

'It's tooooo baddd therrrrre isssssn't a way to colllllecttttt the daaaata wiffout gettttting a sorrrre butttttt frommmmm the essssperrrrmennnt...'

'Well, actually, if you really wanted to, you could set up a mechanical arm to hit one of my ballistics dummies with various implements at a constant force. Then you'd just have to measure the indentation, like you would measure how big a 'wound' various bullets make, and you'd be able to compare exactly how much each would hurt and what kind of bruising there would be.'

Tony rolled his eyes briefly at Abby's proposed experiment, then went back to annotating Tim's spreadsheet.

'I thoughttttt of thattttt... butttt it wouldnnnnn't worrrrk for thingssss that arennnn't rigid. Forrrr a beltttt and thingssss, you neeeeed the wrrrrrrissssst motionnnnn...'

'Ok, you might have to do that one manually...'

'Sssssso, the fffffforccccce woudnnnn't be c...c...constant...'

'Yeah, but...'

'Annnndddd, it would oooonnnnly mmmeassshhhure the brrrrruissssing kinnnnd of p...p...painnn, nnnot the ssssstingggging kinnnd of p...p...painnn.'

'Well, you could calibrate it...'

'You know you two are both totally nuts, right? I mean, what's the _point_ of working it out in that kind of detail? It's not going to change anything when Gibbs tells you to bend over!'

'It'sssss ssssscienccccce! It'ssss innnnterrreshting!'

'Sure it is, Probie,' Tony mocked, sliding his PDA across the table towards him. 'C'mon, let's get you home...'

Tim didn't protest this time, allowing himself to be led out of the bar and deposited in the back of a taxi.

X X X

_Thursday:_

Tim stared at the device in his hand, his face scarlet with the memory of having blithely shared the existence of his spanking spreadsheet with his co-workers. He'd have to beg Abby not to tell Gibbs about it, and find something to bribe Tony with, to secure his silence.

But, as embarrassed as he was, he was also a little pleased by the fruits of the revelation. Tony had actually been very helpful, filling in many of the gaps in his data. He'd have to colour-code the entries, he decided, to compensate for subjective personal differences in their experiences. But, at first glance, it appeared that his partner had used the scores he had assigned for implements they had both experienced as baselines, so the new values should prove to be quite edifying.

Scanning the new entries, he realised just how much more experience Tony had with Gibbs's disciplinary tactics. For instance, Tim had made only one entry for the old-fashioned leather strap that Gibbs had; Tony had supplemented the 9 he had assigned, on the basis of his own experience of being strapped on his bare ass, with an 8 for the strap used over clothing, and a 7.5 when used over heavy jeans. Tim nodded to himself, appreciating the attention Tony had paid to such nuances, and thinking that the new values seemed perfectly reasonable, given his own predictions and extrapolations.

Tony had even created entries for various implements that Tim hadn't yet experienced himself... and for some that he'd never even imagined might be part of Gibbs's arsenal. A bamboo chopstick across the knuckles? Tim winced, wondering what had prompted that kind of discipline. Liquorice applied to the palm? There had to be an interesting story behind _that _one! Three different kinds of ruler? Who knew that the traditional implement provided such a variety of options?! Or that one in particular would produce such unintuitive results, he thought, noticing that the pain value that Tony had assigned far exceeded what Tim would have predicted, based on his observations about density and aerodynamics. He'd have to think about what other variables might explain...

Tim's train of thought was interrupted when his eyes came to rest on Tony's final entry. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes widened in shock, and horror. Gibbs had... he wouldn't really....

Oh, God.


End file.
